Free The Chimaera Regiment by Nathaniel Turner Page A

looked meaningfully at Brynjar. The warrior sighed and reluctantly followed suit. Hunters stepped in and retrieved the weapons, prodding the captives closer to Veither in the process. Two of them smashed the root fastening Doc’s foot to the ground and wrenched him upright.
    The Keldan captain looked them over before glancing at the wolves. “He’s right, you know,” Veither said to Hector, “You aren’t supposed to run from wolves. They live for the chase.”
    Hector stood tall before his captor. “And what do you live for, Veither of the Keldans?” he asked imperiously.
    “Me?” he responded, his tone rife with mock innocence. “I live for the same thing.” He jerked his head toward Bronwyn. Leaning close, he whispered conspiratorially, “How long do you think she would run before I caught her?”
    Ire burned hot in Hector’s breast. He drew back and slammed his fist into Veither’s cheek. The blow spun the Keldan’s head to one side, but he held his ground.
    Straightening his back again, he began to laugh. “Thank you, boy!” he said, spitting out a bloody tooth, “You have trespassed on Keldan land and attacked us unprovoked. Now no one can say we did not offer hospitality pleasing to the gods once we have killed you.” Turning, he gestured to his men.
    “Wait!” Fornein interrupted.
    Veither turned. “Is that you, you old hermit?” he asked, his voice dripping with malice. “What an unexpected pleasure that you will die also.”
    “You can’t!” Fornein objected. “Your lord promised me clemency in exchange for my services. You can’t kill me or my friends.”
    Veither mused on that for a moment. “I suppose you’re right,” he answered thoughtfully. “I can’t have you all killed.” After another moment, he finished, “But your crimes are sufficient for imprisonment, and my lord will see to that.” He made another gesture to his troop, meaning for them to gather. “It’s about a day’s hard march. Let’s be quick about it.” He set out at the head of the group; his hunters fell into line, and the five companions were dragged along with them.
    “I’m sorry,” Hector said softly to his friends. He ached to think that his behavior had caused their predicament.
    “Don’t blame yourself,” Brynjar replied in an unexpected moment of compassion. “They probably would have killed us anyway.”

Chapter Five

    The 2040th year of the Sixth Era
    The fourteenth of the month of Anthemen
    Late in the sixth hour

    Hector glanced anxiously back at Bronwyn, who forced a smile for him. They trudged reluctantly past a tribe of stares, either bewildered or angry. Fierce orbs watched them from wooden cottages, which were intermingled with the trees that had born them.
    At last, they had reached the home of the Keldans. They had been allowed a brief and fitful sleep shortly before dawn; apart from that, they had been forced to march the whole night and now half the day. Hector was exhausted, but the thought that civilian ears heard his shackles reassured him that their journey neared its end.
    They had spent the whole trip in the depths of the forest, barely able to see the sun, even at noontide. But now, Veither and his hunting party forced the five travelers out into a clearing. The bright sky startled them, and Hector shielded his eyes from the glare.
    As he became accustomed to the light, he lowered his hand, and there—through half-lidded eyes—he saw it. The obelisk towered above them like an ebon sovereign, too proud to show his visage to unworthy subjects. The black stone rose sharply, each of its three faces tapering slowly toward the pinnacle. Hector knew that it was ancient, but its edges were keen, and the whole of it was unweathered.
    “Eyes front!” Veither ordered. His sword hilt slammed into Hector’s shoulder, turning him away from the obelisk. He saw that his fellow captives were turned likewise, all to face the only structure in the clearing besides the obelisk: a stone